


I Was Blind But Now I See...

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Blindness, Denial, Fears of loss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Major Character Injury, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: John is helpless but to watch as his loved one is slowly blinded by an old injury that never healed properly. When everything seems to be crumbling around them, the Herald remains a solid support for his beloved, soothing their fears of abandonment.





	I Was Blind But Now I See...

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Hope County collection universe but does not affect the storyline in anyway. This was a one shot fic piece where the wounds of Angelo's injury steadily worsen until he is left unable to see in either eye.

“Fuck!” Angelo cursed as his hand knocked over the glass at his side, spilling water across the document he was evaluating. Reports and inventory updates at each outpost left soggy across the expensive mahogany tabletop. He rose to his feet, searching for a rag or some cloth to soap up the spilled contents, swishing water with his sleeve across the surface and dampening the thigh of his pants in the process. Another curse growled under his breath as he shook his hands dry.

 

The frustrated sounds plucked at the Valley Herald’s attention, causing a pair of bright blue orbs to peek around the doorway into the study. “You alright in there?” John raised a brow as Angelo turned to face him, his shirt sleeve soaked and his thigh splattered in darker markings along his blue jeans. 

 

“I’m fine.” he grouched with a shake of the head, deciding to just use his long sleeve to mop up the rest of the mess since he was already wet. He slipped it up over his head, laying it across the table to soak up the water, lifting the glass carefully in hand, he set it aside and tried to salvage the papers, drying them off without ripping or smudging the ink across the delicate parchment. He laid them out across the adjacent desk and grumbled softly to himself. “Just spilled water on everything. Fuck!” He lifted an inventory list too quickly and tore a quarter of it off. 

 

He dropped the paper where it was, feeling his blood rising to a boiling point. Dark bags outlined the underneath of his eyes from too many sleepless nights, too restless to succumb to his exhaustion and forcing him to seek a distraction. Most often this came in picking up his rifle and sitting up in the watchtower for a few hours while the midnight patrol exchanged shifts, his scope sweeping the outer perimeter for movement. 

 

John dropped a hand onto Angelo’s back, feeling the tension of muscles jump before relaxing. Fingertips trailing across his spine sending delightful little shivers along it as they drop down to caress the dip of his lower back. He pressed his lips between Angelo’s shoulder blades, hooks his free hand around his hips so his fingers can coax at the lean divots of muscle that flex in his stomach. “You’re stressing too much, Angel. Come on, leave it for morning. It’ll dry.” John assured, giving a light tug on Angelo’s hips to draw his lover and bodyguard back with him. “Come up to bed.” The warmth of his breath fluttered across the darker almond complexion. Blue hues meeting that lone honeyed orb as the latino turned to meet his Herald’s gaze. 

 

“You make it really hard to say no, you know that?” Angelo smiled, turning in John’s hold so he could pull the baptist to his chest. The scruff of the man’s beard tickling against the piercing of his right nipple, a small bar-bell in each, placed there by the baptist himself. 

 

“Yes.” John purred. “It’s part of my job, didn’t you know?” He teased as skillful hands splayed against the warm flesh, outlining the marks of past sins that were carved with love and care into Angelo’s skin. Gluttony across his belly, just above the abdomen. Sloth over his diaphragm and Pride across his sternum. John kissed across his Pride, mouth at each carefully created letter with a hum. 

 

“You gonna wait til we get to bed or start the show right here?” Angelo chuckled, looping his arms around John’s shoulders. 

 

The baptist just hummed again, this time longer and more thoughtful as he tilted his head to bite down on the left nipple now, taking the barbell in between his teeth. “Thinking about it.” He mumbled around his token but his feet started to move, drawing Angelo back towards the doorway, taking them to the hallway where they awkwardly shuffled to their shared bedroom. 

  
  


The next morning left Angelo feeling refreshed and well slept, but a haze seemed to come and go with his vision. A little fog that drifted in and out, making him unsteady as he squinted to focus. By mid afternoon it faded away, giving him cause to assume it was from sleeping too much. He settles into his routine with ease. The following days are a series of small problems and misfires. A training exercise that went from good to very very bad when Angelo’s aim failed steadily throughout the rounds. He was shooting strong to begin with, hitting dead center with his rifle but by time he finished, he was off by three feet, hitting adjacent targets. He assumed his posture was becoming sloppy as he grew tired or overly confident. A pounding headache formed right behind his eyes and pinched at the back of his skull, a constant throbbing that he brushed off as a myriad of things from throughout the day. 

 

When inside the Ranch, he would catch on chairs and clip his toe on doorways, bumping shoulders with a corner he took too sharply. His balance was off and he was sluggish, like part of him kept leaning in odd directions. He never noticed it until he hit something. A week passed by when John noticed the odd behaviors becoming more frequent. Angelo would brush it off as being tired, too strung thin from work. It was a high stress job protecting a Herald and running an entire valley. 

 

The latest stream of reassurances came during breakfast as they sat and ate at the table, Angelo partially distracted by the stack of reports he never got to finish the night before. John was one hell of a sweet talker and had been dragging him to bed earlier and earlier every night. John refilled his coffee mug since the bodyguard was inevitably glued in place throughout the morning, his service weapon resting on his thigh as he leaned over the table. His left hand reaching for the drink but fell short an inch or two as his fingers clasped around nothing but air. Angelo made a hum of acknowledgement, looked up and tried again, this time completely bypassing the mug and making it skid across the wooden surface with a ugly grind. His jaw set firmly in place as he narrowed his amber eye on the mug and finally succeeded in catching the handle. 

 

“Old age finally catching up to you?” John joked lightly, tilting his head as Angelo squinted at the print of the report. “You’re starting to look like Jacob, all stoic scrunched features as you glare at the tiny font.”

 

Angelo gave a breathy laugh, his lips twisted up at the corners with a smirk. “Might I remind you that I’m younger than you?” John propped his head up, his chin nestled into the palm of his hand as he watched the latino. “Besides, my vision is twenty twenty.” Angelo pressed, hearing the snort that burst from John’s lips. Angelo frowned before he caught the look his lover was giving him and shook his head.

 

“Whatever you say, Angel.” John cooed, before pushing himself up to clear away the table. Angelo huffed but it held little anger, just a sigh of contentment as he sank back into his chair, returning his attention to his documents. 

  
  
  


Angelo remained in denial about the little problems. He made up so many excuses, he was beginning to run out of them. Night patrols were exhausting, leaving his head throbbing and his vision blurry, walking into the Ranch at night with the lower level lights on blinded him a few different times, causing him to stand in the entryway. Sometimes he would place a hand on the nearest wall and lean against it for support while his eye adjusted to the change. He had stumbled on the steps too many times to count, either catching his foot on a step going up or completely overlooking a step going down and making him slip or flail in a frantic attempt to catch himself. The railing becoming his new best friend in the following days after the last stunt left him sprawled across the bottom of the staircase with his ass in the air and face to the floor. 

 

It was a very undignified position that drew John from the warmth and comfort of his bed. The baptist was caught between laughter and disbelief. “If you didn’t want to work today, all you had to do was ask, Angel. You didn’t have to throw yourself down the steps to play hooky.” John teased as he took the stairs in swift descent and helped gather his lover to his feet and guided him to the kitchen to patch up the newly acquired scrapes and bruises. “You alright?” John inquired as he added a dab of neosporin to a cut on Angel’s chin. 

 

Angelo just grunted in affirmation, his gaze fixed on a spot just past John’s head. He never quite met the baptist’s inquiring blue hues, seeming focused but also not. John let it be, wondering if the ex-officer’s Pride took a bit of a hit in that fall as well. Angelo wasn’t as prideful as he once had been but it would rear its head in rare moments, reviving John’s desire to see it diminished beneath him.

 

Several more weeks passed before the next notable incident occurred. It was late in the evening and a convoy exchange was taking a lot longer than anticipated. It had been a long hot day of hard labor in the valley. This was the last supply exchange for the week and Angelo was more than eager to get back to the Ranch. He was left to drive one of the trucks back to the compound with three other rigs tailing behind. Everything was going good until a curve about two miles out from the ranch led to the lead truck going off the road and into the ditch. It jerked as if it were avoiding a deer or a possible person in the roadway, swerving left then right then veering back, the tail of the truck leaning as a couple of the tires on one side were off the ground. They bounced back to the flat top before running right up against a tree. 

 

The peggies pulled over and dragged Angelo out of the truck, his head resting against the steering wheel with a cut running from his hairline down his temple, broken glass scattered across one side of him. His left arm was raised to brace against the debris before the impact knocked him out. In the following days, while Angelo recovered from his very minor injuries, John kept him on house arrest. He pressed Angelo about what happened, but Angelo remained quiet on the subject. It wasn’t until the fourth attempt at answers that Angelo finally gave in, hearing the strain in the baptist’s voice twisting into concern and anger. “You are the best damn driver I know, Angelo. You have never crashed once in all the years I’ve known you.”

 

“I was just tired, alright.” Angelo blurted after the proddings got a little too harsh for his liking. 

 

“What do you mean?” John pressed coming to sit beside Angelo on the edge of their shared bed. Angelo was going over more reports and documents, refusing to let his time go to waste while he recovered. 

 

“The road and the lights, they got all blurry and fuzzy. Like fog had rolled in. The signs we passed were all out of focus and I couldn’t concentrate. I felt the truck drifting on the curve, the lights were all over the place and before I knew it there were trees and a ditch. It happened in a flash, I didn’t even have time to respond.” Angelo recalled his foot slamming on the breaks as the truck careened to the edge, he felt it tip and tilt unnaturally and saw the rush of treeline. The smell of burnt rubber and heated brakes. 

 

John mulled over this information, his gaze never leaving Angelo’s in carefully concealed scrutiny. He was searching for the ticks and tells of a liar but Angelo had never once lied to him before. He didn’t have any cause or reason to believe he’d start now. If the brothers were anything, John knew they were both loyal and honest to a fault. “Okay.” John finally spoke. “I understand. It was a genuine accident.”

 

Angelo nodded as John leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry if it feels like I’m forcing you into a confession but I’m just concerned. You haven’t been yourself lately.” The baptist explained, watching the former officer’s features. He sighed when they failed to meet his gaze, reassured only by the subtle touch of Angelo’s hand curling into his, squeezing gently. 

  
  


A few more days passed and Angelo returned to work but things did not get better. There were several instances of him being unable to hit a target no matter how many adjustments he made, whether it was by rifle or handgun. He swore up and down he was aiming at the targets spot on but every shot missed. He was finishing out the day with worse headaches, often coming earlier and earlier, barely contained by the herbal medicines he was given by the cult doctors. He swallowed down the medications like they were candy, doubling up more than was prescribed to make the pain go away so he could focus and work. He was mostly useless during nights, the bright lights around the compound and the shifting between shadows and the open illuminated areas blinded him temporarily and left bright spots across his vision for hours. He tried to remedy it by rearranging shift schedules and his patrol times. 

 

John started to notice once more, his concerns becoming more and more obvious as Angelo stumbled on little things. He bumped into corners and knocked over items that were right next to his hands. John attempted to soothe his worries with lighthearted jokes or playful quips but there was only so much he could overlook. 

 

Then one day, it happened. John followed his usual routine, tending to his schedule as per usual. He prepared for a new broadcast that was to be filmed later in the evening. He had baptisms to oversee that afternoon and spent most of the morning preparing his most recent report to Joseph on the status of the Valley and the progress on the bunker. Angelo had slept in a little longer, worn out by a long night with John at his side, soothing their accumulated stresses in various pleasant releases before succumbing to the pull of sleep. 

 

John was downstairs when he heard the first thud of footsteps. The heavy footfall was unusual for the normally agile bodyguard. It was followed by a second thud then a crash. John was racing up the stairs with his heart in his throat when he burst through the doorway. Angelo was kneeling on the bedroom floor, a stack of books had tumbled all around him and were lying askew across the wood boards. Angelo was damp from the shower, a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist as he clawed at the floor. John was knelt before the man, one hand resting on Angelo’s shoulder as he coaxed him up to face him. Angelo’s hands gripped for John’s arm, reaching and missing a few times before they finally latched onto the forearm in a tight hold. “Angelo, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

 

Angelo kept shaking his head, his free hand sliding across the floor and knocking the fallen books aside as he shifted to sit upright. The towel slipping away from his waist before it was pinned between his body and the floor. His good eye was hazy and unfocused, he wasn’t quite looking at John. When John raised a hand in front of Angelo’s face he never budged. He waved his fingers in front of him as he spoke. “Angelo, can you see me?”

 

Angelo was quiet still but nodded in slow uncertain motions. John frowned, one hand gripping Angelo’s forearm while the other held up three fingers. “Angelo, tell me. How many fingers am I holding up?” 

 

Angelo’s brow creased in concentration but all he could see was blobs of color and little bursts of light from somewhere in the room. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from the blinds or a light bulb, either way it made him shy away from it. He turned his head away, overlooking John’s hand and a majority of his person. Tears started to form in the bodyguard’s eyes as he forced the words to his lips. “I can’t see.” His sounds were breathy and strained. The ball of emotion tucked itself firmly in his throat, swelling up and preventing him from speaking. The first tear track trailing down his cheek led to a steady stream as fear gripped his chest. Just admitting those dreadful words felt like securing his fate. “Oh god, John.” He blurted before a broken sob cracked through him in a hard gasp. “I can’t see!”

 

The baptist hushed him gently, his strong grip on Angelo’s forearm drawing him closer so he could wrap his arms around Angel’s torso. The guard held onto him tightly, his hands never leaving John’s body for a moment, running his hands along his shoulders and back until they could embrace the baptist. He buried his face into John’s shoulder, body wracked with the force of each gasp as he struggled to breath in the sheer panic. 

 

Angelo’s fears came crashing down around him, suffocating and deep. A repeat of his past shortcomings. His life and career going up in flames at the diagnoses of a failed eye. Now he was blinded in both, a tool blunted by overuse and broken at the hilt. He was no longer necessary or useful to the cult and that terrified him. He lacked his purpose, unable to defend his Herald. His fingers curled into the expensive silk fabric of John’s shirt as his tears left large dark stains in their wake. The baptists soft hushes remained light in his ear, the warmth of breath on his skin as fingers carded the thick raven locks out of his face and tucked them away. Ever so gentle, every touch was tender and considerate only fueling Angelo’s frantic state more. 

 

“It’s gonna be alright, Angel.” He cooed into the younger man’s ear, soft shushes filtering past well practiced lips. Angelo’s form shuddered against John’s as his tight hold started to slacken. His eye squeezing shut as a rush of dizziness swelled over his mind, throwing the world around him into a topsy turvy display. His ears ringing with the force of his upset and the lack of oxygen that was reaching his body. “Calm down, Angel.” John soothed, using the bodyguard’s pet name to pull at his mind and deliver it some semblance of comfort. “It’s alright. Everything is going to be fine.” 

 

It took quite a bit of consoling before John could coax Angelo up to his feet. With both of Angelo’s hands in his, he pulled him over to the bed and directed him to take a seat. The baptist wasn’t concerned about much at this point as he went through the motions of helping Angelo dry his hair out properly and get dressed. He climbed up into bed with his guard and pulled him closer, arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders as he held him close, fingers carding through Angelo’s hair. The man was always strong and reserved, never letting his emotions show so much so to see him break down like this left lingering echoes in John’s mind of the early days of their meeting. An Angelo so broken and desperate, erratic from self-abuse and addiction. He was uncontrolled and half out of his mind from withdrawals. It was a place that John knew far too intimately on his own. 

 

A few hours of consoling left Angelo drowsy, his eyes firmly shut to avoid any unnecessary light exposure. John eventually found him a blindfold to use, tying one from John’s own private collection of sinful delights, over Angelo’s face. A soft red fabric that caressed his eyes and delivered them to a relieved darkness. He fetched Angelo’s medicine from the bathroom in the process and stayed with him until he fell asleep, tucked up against the baptist. John remained at his side until he was sound asleep, slipping away long enough to inform his subordinates of the change in plans. He cleared his schedule for the next few days and settled back in with Angelo. 

 

By evening the pair had calmed enough on both sides to have a conversation. Angelo confessing his fears to John, the terror that still gripped at him, the doubts of his position and the sake of his own future as well as John’s. John didn’t see the problem. He assured Angelo that his duties could be carried on by other peggies, men and women that Angelo had trained himself. “I have faith in your skills and your knowledge, Angel.” he purred as he carded his fingers through the man’s hair. They found themselves curled up together once more, John dressed in something far less expensive and comfortable as they huddled under the blankets. “You’re more than just my bodyguard, you know that right?” 

 

Angelo made a grunt of acknowledgement that earned him a heavy sigh from the baptist. “I love you, Angelo Luciano. Not because of your skills as a marksman or the work you’ve put into this project. I love you because of who you are and the fact I can be who I am around you without any fears of my own. The status of your sight doesn’t hinder my love for you.” Fingertips gently brushed over the exposed scarring peeking out from beneath the blindfold. John’s lips pressed down over the spot as he littered light kisses across the space and along the fabric. “You are my one and only. Not Joseph or Jacob or even God in heaven will ever change that fact.”

 

Angelo made another soft sound, finding himself speechless. He didn’t have to fear silence as John could always speak plenty for the both of them. “You are mine. I will never throw you away.” He reassured. Angelo looped his arms around John’s waist and tucked up closer. He answered the baptist’s words with warm lips mouthing across his neck and along his throat. John’s pulse leaping beneath the weight of Angelo’s tongue as he purred against the baptist’s throat. He tilted his head to the side to rest it against John’s shoulder, the red cloth shifting only the slightest bit. John pressed their lips together, letting them part as they slotted their mouths together in a hungry desperate kiss. Tongues intermingled as the only form of reassurance Angelo would ever accept from his lover. John was more than happy to oblige in that necessity. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos below to let me know what you think. I'd very much appreciate the feedback.


End file.
